The Sunset of Home
by Blood and Sacrifice
Summary: Stop this, Ponyboy. He told himself, trying to shut out the screams of denial. You'll end up hurting the ones you love most. That's the question. He argued back, forcing back the scream that wanted to leave his body. Who loves me enough to save me?


**Hi! So this is a random one-shot made by me, Huntress of Falling Skies. I was listening to the song 'Would It Matter' by Skillet and thought of this. Sorry if it sucks, it's eleven o' clock at night here and I'm quite tired XD. **

**So here's my one-shot! I hope you all like it! **

Ponyboy Curtis walked home in silence, lost in his own thoughts. He couldn't shake the thoughts that clung to his mind like spider webs, never seeming to end or stop; always repeating, always moving on. He moved his backpack higher up on his shoulder and continued to walk, and within seconds he was inside his house with the door still open, the last few moments feeling like they had never happened.

He shook his head, trying to clear it and get a hold of himself before he did something he would regret; of course, he had done a lot of things he'd regretted, but these thoughts forever remained inside his dark head, forever repeating itself:

_Would anyone care if I weren't here tomorrow?_

_Would anyone lose sleep over it?_

_Would it even matter?_

_Of course,_ he thought. _Someone was bound to care._

But that was the problem; Ponyboy couldn't think of anyone specific who would miss him. He knew he was a mess; in fact he was sure everyone knew it. But he couldn't help what he had done to himself those first few years.

He felt free in those moments.

He felt alive, even in reality he felt dead.

He relied in the one thing that could bring him happiness in his deep and sorrowful world.

His blade, the one he had in his back pocket in case of emergencies.

The one his old friend, Johnny Cade, had used to stab Bob the Soc and kill him that night when they ran.

Ponyboy sighed and reached for his back pocket, then thought better. Instead he went into the kitchen and went into the knife drawer, smiling to himself.

It wouldn't matter.

They would love it if they found him lying dead on the cold ground, blood seeping from his wrists and onto the small puddle of blood around him.

He was nothing to them; a useless child.

Soda's kid brother.

The one who had so many problems that he wouldn't let anyone in to help.

The kid who didn't want to be saved.

The kid who had scars on his wrist from years of pain and agony finally being released.

The kid who was insane in everyone's eyes but his own.

In his eyes, he was gallant.

In his eyes, he was like Dallas Winston, tough despite his years of pain.

If only everyone else saw that.

Or at least, that's what Pony thought.

Images of the gang flashed in his mind as he bolted into the bathroom, sitting down on the floor and putting his head in his hands, shutting his eyes tight in an attempt to make himself calm.

_Stop this, Ponyboy._ He told himself, trying to shut out the screams of denial. _You'll end up hurting the ones you love most._

_That's the question._ He argued back, forcing back the scream that wanted to leave his body. _Who loves me enough to save me?_

Tired of waiting, Ponyboy forced himself to open his eyes and stare at the knife beside him, the tip glinting in the light, calling to him. He grabbed it in his shaking hands and lifted his shirt sleeve, shutting his eyes as he felt the sharp pain of the blade gliding across his fragile skin. He drew in a quick breath to keep himself from screaming, and continued to slice his body bit by bit.

"This one's for the pain I felt when Mom and Dad died," He suddenly managed to speak for the first time since he had been home all that time, smiling when he saw his own crimson blood well from the wound.

"This one's for Two-Bit," He spoke the gang member's name as if it were acid, feeling anger rise inside him, making the urge to cut deeper intensify.

"This one's for Steve… This one's for Darry… This one's for Johnny… This one's for Dally…" The list went on and on, until Ponyboy's arms were covered in cuts and blood, still not satisfied with his desire to die just yet.

He raised the bloody knife to his neck, feeling nothing for himself. "And this one's for Soda…" He sharply drew the knife over his neck, gasping at the cold pain yet the calming sensation it brought him. He laughed on purpose, allowing more blood to spill from his slowly dying body.

He knew he was dying; but he was glad. He had fulfilled his purpose.

To control the pain, instead of the pain controlling him.

And as he fell into a deep sleep, one he knew he would never wake from, he allowed his last breath to have meaning:

"I can see the sunset… The sunset of home…"

**This one-shot is based off of personal experience. I suffer from self-harm, and I just felt like pouring all my pain into a fanfic, and that's how this came to be. I really hope I haven't caused any of you to freak out, I didn't mean too if I did. **


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